


What are they even talking about anyway?

by iloveyoudie



Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [11]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barbecue, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Modern Era, Slice of Life, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: Morse hovered silently by Jim Strange’s kitchen window and peered out into the back garden with that look of his that meant he was puzzling something out.
Relationships: Fred Thursday/Win Thursday, George Fancy & Lil Jim (the rat), Jim Strange/Joan Thursday, Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse, Ronnie Box/George Fancy
Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695859
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	What are they even talking about anyway?

Morse hovered silently by Jim Strange’s kitchen window and peered out into the back garden with that look of his that meant he was puzzling something out. Max and Jim were less than a metre from him, chattering about some potted plants on the counter and their plans for flower beds and seasonal vegetables. Joan had greeted their arrival to the barbeque, she was about ready to pop the baby out any day now, and she continued to waddle awkwardly about even as they all told her to sit down and put her feet up. She’d inherited a good dose of stubbornness from both of her parents though Morse always thought he saw a bit more of his governer in her than she’d ever like to admit.

Now he was looking out the back window as Max and Jim arranged a tray of deviled eggs behind him on the kitchen island. Each of them snuck a few for themselves, popping them into their mouths whole, and Morse spared a glance behind him to steal his share as well before he washed it down with a sip of beer. As soon as he could, his eyes slid back out the window, back into the garden, and he was back into that puzzled expression.

George Fancy and Ronnie Box were out by the grill, Box in one of those shirts of his that were several sizes too small and showed too much chest hair, and those jeans that made everyone turn their head when he walked past. Fancy was beside him holding a beer in each hand, presumably Box’s and his own, and they talked easily and laughed and Morse couldn’t hear what they were saying but he’d realized that they talked a lot in these recent social gatherings. He knew they were seeing each other, everyone knew now, and he realized it had probably been going on longer than he was aware of, but it still boggled his ever spinning mind.

“Move off, Morse, you’re blocking the sink..” Jim swung near him, hip bumping him lightly and Morse took the cue to shuffle a foot or so away. He was well used to being herded at home and work alike already. Max was very clear in the kitchen and the morgue that Morse should stay clear of his well worn paths if he was doing something.

“Oh, he’s trying to solve them again,” Max sidled up beside him, pinched a curtain aside, spied Box and Fancy doing the grill prep, took a moment to appraise Box’s jeans, and when he got a sharp look from Morse, let the curtain fall again.

Morse made a bit of a face and shifted himself further away, “I just don’t understand what either of them see in each other.”

“And I’ll tell you again that it’s not for you to understand, love,” Max paused in front of him, took his chin in his fingers, and forced his gaze away from where it continued to drift to the yard. He lifted on his toes and gave him a quick kiss, enough to snag Morse’s wandering thoughts for a few solid seconds and leave the man with a pleased little smile.

“ _In love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions_ ,” Max bobbed his head in the opposite direction, “Now clear out because you’re in the way.” And then he was away to the refrigerator to pull out a plate covered in meat and several ziplock bags full of things in marinades.

“Love,” Morse muttered, “You think they’re in love?”

He shuffled himself out of the kitchen completely when the other two were too busy to answer him. He hovered in observational distance so he could lend a hand when they needed someone for door opening and tray carrying and holding utensils, “I just don’t understand what they could be talking about all the time.”

Jim snorted, “At the moment, I would assume the grill, matey. I bet you don’t even know what either of them like. Football? Gossip? Telly? Did you know Box has seen every season of Big Brother and he runs a betting pool for it round the office?”

Morse did not know that. He didn’t fall in with those sorts of schemes. But it seemed typical that Box would be wrapped up in some type of gambling, regardless of the mundanity of it.

“I mean.. Really, Morse,” Jim pulled an apron down from beside the fridge, “just because you aren’t interested in those things doesn’t mean everyone else isn’t.”

Morse frowned and couldn’t think of anything more boring than talking about football all day or devoting oneself to reality television.

“Morse,” Max called him and he realized he’d gone back to gazing, this time out the back door, as George put the beers down and crouched under the grill to fiddle with the propane hookup. Box’s hand drifted down to play with George’s hair.

He didn’t get it. _Oh, well_ , “Yes, Max?”

“I need your arms, my dear. Stop obsessing,” He was carrying two trays and a bag and Morse finally broke himself away from his ruminations and snapped to attention.

* * *

George tossed himself into a lawn chair and swung his feet up onto Ronnie’s knees beside him. They’d only just really started going around to group social things together. Obviously they’d been keeping their relationship quiet for a while but it was harder and harder with work, and there was a whole other angle with past animosity still hanging over Box’s head. But at the same time it was a relief for him. Usually he’d be invited to things and feel awkward, or like the group's dumb kid brother, as Jim and Joan had their wedded bliss and a baby on the way, and Max and Morse were just so.... _them_ all the time, and honestly just about the same as they were at work with just a bit more touching and kissing. Now he had Ronnie and it wasn’t like being a fifth wheel anymore. For the most part, people had finally accepted him being there. It was nice.

Box’s hand settled on George’s ankles, thumb rubbing idly over his ankle bone as he watched Max and Morse in the distance talking and Jim pulling an apron over his head that had a cartoonish buff man’s body printed on it. Joan came out of the house, one hand on her round stomach and the other waving as she called for Jim. He gravitated to her, his hand settling on her stomach as well in an idle gesture as he leaned in to hear whatever she needed to say to him. Morse and Max were watching them, Morse’s hand having drifted to rest on Max’s lower back and smooth up and down idly. He was talking too, and Max chuckled after a moment and sipped his wine.

“What do you think they talk about?” George murmured as he took a drink of his beer.

“Who?” Box was looking in the other direction, not at their friends at all, but instead at the long expanse of lawn and probably thinking how it could use a pool or a basketball court or a tiny football pitch with all that grass.

“All of them. You know..” George nodded over.

“Oh. Books,” Box said with a stuffy affectation, “Oooooperaaaah.”

George snorted, “Craft beers. Aged cheese.”

“Did you listen to Radio Three last night, old chap?” Box pursed his lips and put on a posh accent.

George snickered, “Joanie and Jim just talk about babies I bet.”

“She’s about to pop any minute though, eh? You ready to deliver a baby on this lawn, Georgie-boy?”

“Me? There’s a doctor right there!”

“You never know,” Box tilted his head jokingly and sipped his own beer, “Freak grill accident could explode the lot of us and you’d be stuck with a panicked pregnant woman huffin and puffin and water breaking…”

George almost snorted his drink then, “You say I’m fucking grim.. Oh my _god_.”

Box gave him that crooked grin of his and it warmed him through.

“I’m glad we only have cats..” George swung his legs down and leaned forward in his chair. “Hey, you want to go see the rats?”

Box shrugged, “Yeah alright.”

* * *

Joan had put a speaker in one of the house’s windows and left no discussion as to the music when her parents finally showed up. Fancy was still not accustomed to spending social time with one of his higher up bosses. Once Thursday had gone from being their governor to also being Jim’s father-in-law it put a whole different angle on their social lives. Inspector Thursday was just on a different tier in his mind than Strange or Morse, but he got on well with Box and that was something.

The group of them, Max and Ronnie and Jim and Fred, all hovered around the grill as it billowed smoke and the smell of cooking meat filled the air. George was curious if there would be a throwdown as all the grillmasters congregated like a meeting of the minds or a Council of Grilling Elders, but there seemed to be some unspoken code of conduct and Jim, decked in his apron and tongs like royal raiment, was the home owner and king of the castle, and as such was in control. Occasionally one of the others would point and say something and Jim would turn a piece of meat and then Box or Max would grab an empty plate or lay out buns and Jim would pile up whatever had finished and it would go to the table with all the rest of the spread.

Some neighbors came by at some point, a small contingent of Strange’s family who were local, and the rest of the squad set in to relax and leave most of the action to the new arrivals. Morse was in a lawn chair between George and Mrs. Thursday, a beer held in both hands and dangled between his knees, and she had something pink in a cup given to her by her daughter. On George’s other side was Joan. He was already a bit heady, floating a bit on too many beers too quickly and not enough food, and he had Lil Jim in a little fleece sling on his chest that was used to carry the rats around. George tapped his foot to the music, something poppy that went in one ear and out the other, and continued to watch the cooking contingent from across the yard.

“What do you think they're talking about?” He said to the rat.

“Meat,” Replied Joan in a voice a bit like a cave man.

“Max talked about marinades for about an hour last night,” Morse smirked and shook his head.

“Oh, Fred’s already planning his Christmas turkey brine,” Win rolled her eyes.

George laughed and rubbed a finger over Lil Jim’s head and he and Joan echoed each other when it was repeated, “MEAT.”

They all laughed.

* * *

The sun had set and the grill had been shut down. Everyone had drunk and eaten until they were near to bursting and Mr. and Mrs. Thursday and the neighbors and the distant relatives were all gone and Jim and Joan were on their sofa in front of the TV with their feet up not looking like they would be moving any more for the evening. Lil Jim was back in his enclosure in Jim’s office and George was helping Max in the kitchen pack things into tupperware and loading the dishwasher. They did as much as possible for their hosts now that the evening was wound down and, miracle of miracles, Box had gone outside to have a cigarette and Morse - many beers in - had joined him.

They were sitting in chairs, three feet apart, each with a cigarette in hand and slightly pink faces from their buzz and - for now - they weren’t murdering one another.

George kept peeking out, expecting to see Box’s hands around Morse’s throat, or Morse hanging off his back punching him in the head, but instead they were sipping from the bottles and smoking and… talking.

“Wondering what they are talking about?” Max pulled cling wrap over a tray that had all the leftover meat.

“Aren’t you?” George watched Box say something and Morse actually chuckle, “They’re laughing!”

Max joined him at the sink, peered out the curtains and lifted his brows, “I’m sure they have to have something in common. In all of the vastness of the universe, there has to be something.”

George wasn’t sure he could believe it and he lifted his brows and looked at Max and Max looked back to clarify, “Well, I don’t know what it is… but an overlapping interest has to exist. Logic dictates.”

George pulled out his phone, stuck out his tongue as he tried to both sneak a photo and line it up properly, and then snapped one. Both men, smiling of all things, sitting together on the outside patio.

Max grabbed his arm, “Send that to me. I’ll frame it and give it to them for Christmas.”

“Oh, bedazzled Best Friend frames,” George laughed, “Fucking gold.”

George watched them finish their cigarettes and drop them in their empty beer bottles and he pulled away from the window and acted nonchalant as Box opened the sliding door to come back in. When he caught George’s eye, George smiled.

“What?” Ronnie said.

“Nothing.” Said George.

* * *

George had melted into the couch as soon as they’d gotten home. He could still smell the smoke from the grill on his clothes even though he’d gotten changed and it clung on Box as well who was equally boneless and laying mostly on top of him with his head in George’s lap.

“You have a good time today?” George murmured, fingers sifting through the thick dark hair, working the waves and curls out from the trained sort of grooming Box had laboured over that morning and held well through the day. Sometimes he wondered if he didn’t just intimidate it into constantly looking perfect.

“Yeah,” Ronnie’s eyes darted from the TV to his face, “I told you I did.”

“Just checking..” George was still warm and fuzzy from the beer and now he was warm and fuzzy from this and with all of that compounded contentment he was feeling a bit like he needed to be reminded it was real.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Box and Morse talking. Honestly it was like the stars had aligned for one night only. A feat never to be demonstrated again. Like a comet passing once every thousand years. Like when a surly pet cat and dog, forever at odds, finally lay down and nap together for the first time in a decade.

“You and Morse are practically mates now, huh?” George finally said.

Box grunted.

“What were you talking about outside?”

“Hmm?” Box’s eyes had closed and when George looked down at him he was rolling his face to blink back to awareness.

“What were you and Morse talking about?”

“Nothing,” Box shrugged and it was followed by a yawn.

George yawned also, “Couldn’t have been nothing. Laughing and whatnot. What did you two bond over?”

Box started to stretch, legs extending off the end of the sofa, torso stretching as much as he could without rising, and George watched a lovely sliver of bare skin appear on his waist just out of reach of his arm.

“You really want to know?” Box lifted his head and propped himself on a elbow aside George’s waist.

“Yea,” George shifted to accommodate.

“Turns out,” Ronnie turned over, wrapped an arm around George’s waist to tug him a bit lower on the sofa, and buried his face into his stomach, “The thing we have in common is a pair of pain in the arse boyfriends.”

And then he yanked up George’s shirt and blew a raspberry right on his belly below his ribs and George yelled and squirmed and tried to pry him off until it stopped. They settled in again eventually, George still chuckling, still warm, and still grinning. Box had deflected any continuation of the conversation but that didn’t stop the truth, that Ronnie and Morse had laid down arms for a while just to talk - complain - gush - who knows - about the one thing they had in common and that was the men they cared about.

And for Ronnie, that was him.

**Author's Note:**

> My excuse to cram all my fave couples in together to socialise.


End file.
